Chapter Four #3
Emma cocked her head as she considered his argument. ‘You do have a point,’ she conceded slowly. ‘But it doesn’t matter what you believe, you still have to be seen to be dealing with it or you’ll lose the trust of the company.’
‘Do I really have to call in a medium?’ Joseph asked. ‘It’s just ridiculous.’
‘Call the pink-haired woman as Madge suggested. You’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘My reputation,’ he said with a wan smile.
‘Don’t be silly. No one cares. You’re expected to be a little mad in the theatre!’
He laughed with her. ‘I didn’t think it would be this complicated hiring a Hollywood star.’
‘It shouldn’t be, but Isadora is temperamental, for sure.’
‘She’s a good actress though.’
‘She’s not a nice person, darling,’ said Emma sensibly. ‘She’s created a horrid atmosphere at the theatre, and no one likes her.’
‘She’s bringing in the punters,’ he argued.
‘If the actors are good enough, word of mouth will bring them in.’
‘I wish that were all it took.’
‘Do you really think Isadora will pull out of tomorrow’s performance?’ Emma asked, rather hoping she would. She was curious to see whether the strange occurrences on stage would happen with the understudy. Did the ‘ghost’ have a problem with Isadora as Madge had suggested?
‘No, she’ll flounce on stage at the last minute after having made us all sweat. I guarantee it.’
Emma grinned over the rim of her glass. ‘You’ve got the measure of her then.’
‘I have,’ he said with a shrug. ‘She’s a diva. It’s expected.’
‘Or she’ll let Rebecca take the part and see if the weirdness happens when she’s on stage. If it doesn’t, she’ll accuse Rebecca of deliberately sabotaging her performance in order to get the chance to play Lady Macbeth. We don’t want Isadora slagging off the company in the press.’
Joseph shook his head in despair. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘What the hell have I got myself into?’
That night Joseph couldn’t sleep. What had begun as a triumphant first night had collapsed into disaster.
He went out into the garden in his dressing gown and slippers and gazed on to the moonlit harbour that shimmered in the horseshoe bay beneath him.
The sky was a rich indigo blue, twinkling with stars.
The black water beneath it glittered prettily.
Sailing boats slept peacefully in their berths, their masts lit up resembling spindle sticks.
A gentle breeze carried on its breath the salty smell of brine and heather.
Joseph inhaled deeply. He had grown to love that smell.
He bent down and patted his dog, who sat to heel.
‘You have a nice life, Benny,’ he murmured fondly.
‘Nothing to stress you out, is there? As long as you have food and walks and affection, you’re all right.
Why is life so complicated for us humans?
I should never have hired Isadora. What a bloody mistake that was.
Rebecca’s a better actor if I’m honest. What was I thinking?
’ Benny gazed up at him adoringly, which made Joseph feel a little better.
But he knew what he was thinking. It was getting harder to fill the theatre, what with the increasing popularity of streaming television channels such as Netflix and .
He’d thought that a famous Hollywood star would attract a new audience, a younger audience, and he hadn’t been wrong; Isadora Nash was certainly famous.
However, no one had told him how difficult she was to work with.
If he’d known, he wouldn’t have risked it.
As for ghosts. He rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.
‘What bloody next?’ he muttered out loud in exasperation.
He looked down at Benny. ‘Will the witches fly off on their broomsticks?’ He laughed and Benny got to his paws and wagged his tail.
‘You like the sound of that, do you? Well, I’m going to look a right idiot when I call the College of Psychic Studies tomorrow and hire a medium.
A pink-haired medium to boot! What will you think of that?
’ Benny, assuming by the tone of his master’s voice that he was going to be taken on a midnight walk, began to bounce about excitedly.
‘All right,’ said Joseph, thrusting his hands into his pockets and setting off towards the path that wound its way from the bottom of the garden to the beach below. ‘A midnight walk will do me good.’
The following morning, he called the College of Psychic Studies and requested the medium with pink hair.
Fortunately, they had only one of those on their books and she was called Pixie Tate.
‘She’s the best,’ the receptionist told him proudly.
‘She never fails. She has an extraordinary gift.’ Joseph made all the right noises and didn’t let on that he thought the whole thing utterly ridiculous.
The receptionist explained that Pixie worked with a colleague called Ulysses Lozano, and that they’d require a bed for the night as they’d be travelling down from London.
Joseph explained that he needed her to come at once, preferably today, and that he’d put them up in the local hotel which was a two-minute walk from the theatre.
The receptionist rung off and then called him back ten minutes later to confirm that Pixie Tate and Ulysses would arrive on the 16:45 Penzance train from London.
Joseph had a sinking feeling. If Pixie Tate was the best, then why was he able to book her so quickly?
It didn’t bode well. He was massively irritated.
It wasn’t the cost that irked him – her rate was reasonable – it was the fact that he was paying for her to do nothing more than appease the company by waving a magic wand or something. He could do that himself!
But Pixie Tate and Ulysses Lozano were coming down on the train and he was going to have to go through the motions of welcoming them warmly.
For God’s sake, he thought crossly as he left the house to get into his car.
I’m a producer and director, not a bloody actor!
And with that annoyed feeling seething inside him, he set off for the theatre.